


H.U.I. (Hunting Under the Influence)

by twowritehands



Series: Helluva Woman [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Couch Sex, Cuddles, F/M, Hetero smut, Jody's Mom Voice, Satin Panties, Smut, ace!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 03:30:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5481767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twowritehands/pseuds/twowritehands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Donna needs help with an alcohol spirit, the boys drop everything to deliver the needed weapon. Any flirting or sex that happens after the hunt is entirely because of the booze....right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	H.U.I. (Hunting Under the Influence)

Here’s the thing about Cufflinks:

It’s lame.

Donna is a people person. She prefers to meet a guy face to face, get a sense of his personality first-hand, his smell, his voice, his attitude towards others. You know, get a good read on him. It’s useless getting the information from a second hand source like this dating site. Of course people are only going to post their good traits. So few people even understand their own flaws. Like Doug for instance. Poor bastard has no idea he’s such a douche.

It’s awkward.

She has accepted three dates from three different men off this Cuff Links and it’s gotten her nothing but three wasted weekends. First guy stood her up--reason listed being work. Cop to cop, she understood, but as a woman it made her feel 16 and the butt of some terrible class prank. Second guy was a Doug replica. He didn’t say anything about the food she ordered, but his insensitive jokes about the waitress kicked up her anger at Doug and the night ended with her cutting him off mid-punchline and faking an emergency. And the third guy? Total whakadoo. Only pretending to be a cop.

So she ditched the dating profile.

So now she’s doing it old school. Hitting the local bars. Hers are filled with too many familiar faces, so she prefers to frequent the bars in her hunter-sheriff partner’s hometown, Sioux Falls. At first, she hates it almost worse than the online deal. Sitting there alone at a bar, waiting to be hit on. But then she remembers that she is here to serve herself, not one of these drunken a-holes. So she picks out the best looking one and does her best at a pick up line.

To her complete astonishment, it works! He is interested. They sit, they drink, they flirt. But when he asks ‘your place or mine?’ It feels like it is WAY too soon for that. She thinks of him as belligerently impatient before she remembers the rules of one night stands. He’s within bounds asking after so many drinks and so much effortless flirting around the subject.

“I-I’m sorry, I can’t do this,” she says. Chickening out leaves a vile taste in her mouth--she just wasn’t raised to back down from anything--but it’s something she’s got to do. “I’m so sorry for wasting your time. I’m--I need to call someone.”

She slips out of the loud, smoky bar and dials Jody’s number. It rings as Donna rubs her forehead and laughs at herself. What had she been thinking? Well, it hardly mattered. She had her answer now: sleeping with a total stranger was impossible.

“I gotta at least be familiar the guy,” she tells Jody once she has explained her problem. Her heart is racing, she feels shaky and sick and that’s partly the booze and partly the anxiety she has for bailing on a project that has taken all night, one that was never going to be easy.

As Jody offers standard reassurances, the door opens and the guy walks out. They meet eyes. She smiles apologetically and gestures to the phone. He nods and smiles tightly, and surely she’s just imagining how his eyes accuse her: Quitter.

Donna sighs and stomps a boot against the curve, misses. Thank god Guy didn’t see that! Blushing, she sits carefully on the cold ground. “I’m too drunk to drive. Think you can come pick me up?”

“Sure thing,” Jody says, but Donna barely hears.

The guy crosses the lot, walking past a pale girl standing there barefooted with her eyes on Donna. The girl totally ignores the guy who doesn’t even seem to see the girl. Others passing through the parking lot towards the building look right through her.

Donna gasps. “Jodes--hang on. I think I got something here….” now her heart is beating fast for a totally different reason. The girl flickers out like a candle, reappears several paces closer. Coming for her. “Looks like a ghost.”

“What? There? At the bar?” Jody asks, her voice breaking up. Interference. Donna shuts the phone and stumbles to her car. The ghost-girl flickers closer.

Donna has her hand on the salt rifle when the ghost girl opens her mouth and sinks fangs into her arm.

-X-

Here’s the thing about Dean right now:

He feels good.

After years of self loathing, Dean can look in the mirror and smile. And mean it. Inner reflection these days doesn't dredge up a bunch of what-ifs and should-haves and pain. Defeating the darkness in the world defeated it in himself.

He knows he’s still the same old war-tired sonofabitch, but it's like the war is almost over, all but won. There’s light, real light, at the end of the road. After years and years of shit storms and sacrifices, of walking straight through hell, of clawing his way out of certain death… he has finally come through the other side.

He can sleep.

Okay he still has nightmares, but for once they are outnumbered by restful sleep or good dreams. Fishing. Talking with Cas. Teasing Claire. Hunting with Sam. Sex with Donna. The stuff his subconscious has to work with is… clear. Bright. Content.

He sleeps seven or eight hours a night. He wakes up, more often than not, happy to have the day ahead of him.

He feels surrounded by family.

His dreams aren’t empty because his life is full. He has Sam, Cas and Claire. He has Jody and Donna. These are lives he hasn't managed to totally ruin… well… yet.

Does he really feel like they will all, inevitably, crash and burn because of him?

No. And that’s the crux of it.

He doesn't think his life is so twisted as to ruin others anymore. Because the darkness is gone and after a year he’s really starting to feel the difference. Time has allowed stuff to grow where no light had ever been.

Here there’s hope. He can count on laughter at some point in the day. He can count on family calling just to check in or invite him to graduations in Sioux Falls. He can count on the comfort of home in the bunker.

And that is fanfreakingtastic.

So when Sam told him not to screw up what he has with Donna it got him thinking...what if… what if he and Donna can grow like so much else has grown?

The thought excites him, scares him into averting his thoughts. It's like if he looks right at it--the possibility there--he’ll jinx it.

-X-

“You’re yearning,” Cas accuses one afternoon. Of all his angel powers to keep, reading Dean's mind is the one that stuck. Figures.

Cas has found Dean hanging out in his room with music, the only place besides Baby’s garage Dean haunts. He grins at Cas. The Sioux Falls deputy’s long weekend visit at the bunker is ending--damn right Dean is yearning. The corner of his mouth tucks upward and he pats the mattress.

Cas enters the room and willingly spoons up next to Dean, who willingly uses the man as a pillow. As he does so, a soft grunt of a laugh escapes him; he remembers a time when this kind of affectionate hanging out would never have happened in a million years--out of fear, confusion, and typical misunderstanding of the sexual spectrum. Younger Dean had had the wrong end of so many sticks.

“I like having you around, Cas. I miss you living with us.”

“I know,” Cas scrutinizes him before resting a scruffy cheek against his unstyled hair. “But your yearning isn't the same old one that was between us….it’s….for another.”

Dean’s breath reverses. “What? C'mon, Cas, that’s…” but he can't even finish the denial.

“Dean, it’s such an amazing feeling!” he sounds mystified, which makes Dean sit up and check that this IS his former angel friend. Cas’ blue eyes are soft but full of light. “Such a powerful wish. Not for something you don't have but for--for more of something you do have. Oh, Dean, this is wonderful!”

“Whoa, whoa,” Dean sounds like a horse whisperer, but he's never had to talk his friend down from--whatever the hell this is. “Buddy, you're freaking me out.”

Cas chortles warmly, and his voice is soft. “I'm so glad you've found this, Dean. He or she can give you what you truly want. What you deserve. That's all I've ever wanted.”

“Slow your roll. Just because I wish doesn't make it happen.” The threat of jinx is so close Dean feels it lodge in his throat and he snaps, “stop talking about it!”

Cas laughs, a full sound that usually fills Dean with tingles when he doesn't feel like it is directed at him. He grumbles and lays back on his real pillow instead of Cas. “Whatever, man.”

Blue eyes sparkling, Cas isn't shy about carressing the crown of Dean’s head. “Be happy.”

“Okay,” he promises. He doesn't put voice to the question But how? Because he knows the answer already. Don't screw up. He can stand hearing that once, from Sam. Any more times from anyone else, though, and it stops being brotherly advice and starts to say something about Dean’s ability to do anything right.

Don't screw up. One day at a time….

“Hey,” that’s Sam walking into the room like it’s public access. But to be fair Cas has left the door open. His darker-green eyes sweep over the cuddle session and he stops one step inside, smirks.

-X-

Sam has learned that if he doesn't know where Dean and Cas are then he will find them together. But when he sees them cuddling on Dean’s bed, suddenly it hits him how he had honestly not been expecting it this time. They broke up, right?

It takes but a second to figure out why they would be spooning. Dean’s been sleeping with Donna, so the old sex conundrum is fixed. So now Dean gets his cake and eat it too?

Sam finds it wholly unfair that Dean gets a girlfriend AND a boyfriend while he has to go to sleep and wake up alone.

“Y’know--” he starts, ready to voice this injustice within seconds of realizing it. But he is cut off.

“Sssh! I love this song!” Cas warns with a motion to Dean’s record player.

He lifts his head off the bed and starts singing along. His eyes stay on Sam, like the words are for him. It makes him cross his arms and gulp, because damn those eyes are really something.

It doesn't become a moment or anything because Dean giggles and joins Cas for the chorus. Sam rolls his eyes, and thankfully a cell phone rings.

Sam is closer and answers it while Dean turns down the stereo. The caller ID gives him a hint of who it is, otherwise it would have been hard to tell from the static and slurred words. “Donna? Is that you, what’s wrong?”

-X-

When Sam says her name, Dean sits up. The last time she called sounding to be in distress it had been a naughty phone call.

Sam’s eyes cut to him. “Yeah--yeah, he’s right here. Hold on, lemme put you on speaker.”

Not good, Dean reaches for the phone to save her dignity but then it’s clear that she really is in real trouble this time. Her breathing is labored, her voice is a little slurred and shaky as she explains, “So I’m leavin’ this bar, okay, and I see this dead-lookin’ girl watchin’ me across the street. Nobody else is seein’ her. So she’s a ghost, right, all dead eyed, and flickering here and there. She comes at me, okay, and I got the rock salt ready for her, but--” hiss of pain, “it doesn’t even slow her down. She gets ahold of me and--” another hiss of pain, slosh of alcohol, “well, I fight her off, but she, uh, she got me pretty good. My arm’s ripped right open--I’M OKAY! I’M OKAY!” she interjects when all three men vocalize their alarm to hear she is hurt. “I got a tourniquet on it. I’ll live. But my question is--maybe, um--What the heck was that thing and am I, ya know, gonna turn into one of ‘em?”

Dean looks wide eyed at Sam and Cas. The deputy looks as worried as Dean feels. Sam, a little pale, is in his calculating mode. He fires off questions that make Dean feel like a lost child, unable to think of anything but his need to help a friend who is somewhere alone and bleeding.

Donna's answers don't make a lot of sense to Dean or Cas. But Sam tilts his head. “So she’s a ghost but she attacked like an animal? And you said you saw this thing outside a bar but no one else did?” He glances at Dean and smiles. “Donna have you been drinking?”

“Yes, okay, but I’m not makin’ this stuff up, Sam! I know it sounds nuts, but it was a ghost with claws and she tagged me.”

Dean’s head falls back as the pieces connect. Of course. Sam nods. “I believe you, Donna. We believe you, and you’ll be okay. It sounds like a Shojo. They don’t turn people. Just the usual disembowelment.”

“Oh good.” her relief is tangible. Instantly, her voice changes. Still a little slurred, she calms down and sounds more professional. “Shojo. Right. Gotchya. So how do we kill this thing?”

“You’ll need a samurai sword consecrated by a Shinto blessing--oh, and you have to be hammered to even see the thing, which explains why only you saw her. She’s an alcohol spirit.”

“Are you kidding me right now?”

“Wish I were.”

“Alcohol spirit? Hunting under the influence? And where the cuss am I gettin’ a blessed japanese sword, huh?”

“It’s ok, Donna. You can borrow ours. We’re coming straight to ya. Hang tight.”

She passes the phone to someone else, and Jody sounds like an angry mother who just came home to a kegger party on her front lawn. “You boys get that sword up here as soon as you can.”

X

It’s one nonstop, over the speed limit drive to Sioux Falls with the sword. When they arrive, Cas climbs out of the backseat, and breaks an hour’s silence.

“Sam? Can I speak privately with you?”

Dean pushes his eyebrows down, frowning after the pair of them as they shuffle awkwardly a few yards away. He has no time to wonder what that's about before Jody is intercepting him, and he remembers that Donna was bitten, and he hurries into the house to check on her.

With one look at the off duty sheriff, he knows she’s fine. Her arm is bandaged neatly, and she isn't even favoring it too much. In fact, the worry all but evaporates, replaced with a dumbness that always overtakes Dean when he is unexpectedly Attracted to a person.

Donna is wearing a purple top with a black skirt and boots. Her hair is braided neatly, and she's wearing makeup. It’s one of the rare times he has seen her out of uniform, and tonight's outfit was chosen to turn heads.

He can tell she is drunk by the rosey tint in her cheeks that makes her about ten times more adorable than ever. He can't help but grin and make plans to drink with her more often.

“Sounds like a night of fun turned into a night of work,” he says, trying for casual.

“A cop/hunter gets pretty used to it,” she says, right before she gives him a welcoming hug. She is soft and warm, and dammit if that yearning Cas had accused him of isn't an electric shock up his spine.

There is a moment of potentially deadly awkwardness when the hug ends but he can't think of anything to say--but oh, thank you Cas, because the fallen angel and Sam return just in time to save him.

Cas looks between him and Donna with a knowing grin. Dean scowls.

As Sam and Cas get their hello hugs, Dean is hit anew with curiosity about that weird little aside. But a look to each of them yields nothing. To prevent any questioning, Sam gets them right to the point. They decide a plan.

It's a bottle of Jack Daniels split three ways and a showdown in the back alley of the bar.

Thanks to the sword and all, it quickly becomes a Star Wars thing, when Dean manages a hilarious Chewbacca reference about Sam and his hair. He feels good enough about himself before Donna hiccups and says, breathlessly, “Gosh, Dean, you’re so adorable.”

He puts an arm around her, sighing like she has named his cross to bear. “Yeah, I know. We’re adorable people Donna, we should be PROUD!”

Always a little giggly when drunk, Sam laughs his ass off at Donna’s Jedi impression.

But then the shojo arrives.

Dean, seeing double-everything, is just glad to have a team, when, more than once, the Shojo knocks the sword of out each of their hands. Jody, the designated driver, is even helpful despite being unable to see the thing. They kill it before it escapes.

Specifically, Donna kills it. She's still wielding the sword like a lightsaber and pretty much ObiWans the bastard. They dispose of the pieces and celebrate with bags of candy, since more booze is a bad idea.

“Donna, you’re seriously the best!” Sam says when she buys him a whole bag of marshmallows. Dean reaches for one and gets to see greedy little Sammy hide the bag in his jacket. “No, dude, these are mine!”

“Bitch,” Dean grumbles affectionately, picking out a bag of suckers for himself.

“Jerk,” Sam says. Literally a minute later, in the reflection on Jody’s car windows as they pile back into the vehicle, Dean sees Sam feed Cas a marshmallow.

Honestly, if Donna wasn't practically sitting in Dean’s lap, he would have been jealous first and understanding later. But drunk and triumphant and allowed to rest his hand on Donna’s leg, he is decidedly happy that Cas has picked Sam, because Sam will take care of Cas the right way.

Visibly amused by her car load of intoxicated friends, Jody drives them all to her house to sleep it off. Alex, still wide awake at 1 am, looks up from her blog to greet them and retreats from the large crowd as fast as possible by asking Cas if it’s cool for her to go spend the night with Claire.

“If Jody is ok with it, fine,” the drunk deputy says, bleary eyed. Jody bumps one shoulder. “I suppose. Take my truck. I’ll drive everyone back tomorrow in the squad-car.”

“Yisss,” the teenager says, texting the news as she gets into a pair of shoes. In hoodie and pjs, she takes Jody’s keys with a kiss to her cheek and a surprisingly warm, “Love you, Mom.”

Dean is moved by the display and trades a look with Sam. Jody goes for a hall closet full of blankets and pillows. “Donna, that means you get Alex’s bed.”

“Great!”

“Boys I got three sofas, take your pick.”

Cas has already collapsed on the nearest one. Sam takes the one across from him, leaving Dean to follow Jody into the lounge, where the biggest, plushest couch awaits. Dean snickers as he sheds his layers. “Suckers.” Then he finds his last piece of candy and it becomes a clever pun and he laughs. Jody rolls her eyes and thumps him on the shoulder. “Sleep it off, kid.”

-X-

In Alex’s room, Donna undresses down to white satin panties and a matching bra, reminding her of tonight’s original agenda. But she had chickened out of showing off for that guy who had shown interest at the bar, and then that shojo brought Dean and they have both been drunkenly flirting and now she can’t stop thinking about how he’s just down the hall…

She climbs into Alex’s bed and turns out the light. An automatic night-light comes on, an orb that changes hues in a slow, hypnotizing manner. It keeps Donna up, keeps her mind floating between the dull ache in her injured arm and the seasoned hunter down the hall who not only just had a Shinto-blessed samurai sword laying around, but dropped everything to bring it to her. Because he knows what she does, who she is, and that makes what she wants to do to him so much more tantalizing. The fun is showing people who know Good Girl Donna that she can be bad.

It’s an hour after lights out when she gives up fighting it. Throwing back the covers, she tiptoes out of the teenaged girl’s room, feeling a bit like one herself. Her heart is pounding, her body is aching, and she just can’t take it any more.

-X-

Dean is not asleep, but he is dreaming. Dreaming about the gorgeous blonde woman sleeping down the hall, the one who--too drunk to talk plain--had very little trouble dispatching a shojo. Fought one off single-handedly without even knowing what the damn thing was. Damn, that’s cool. And hot.

The only thing stopping him from going into that room right now is the fact that they are guests in this house. He’s not sure about the rules. That bed belongs to a kid, which would make it weird, right? And maybe the walls aren’t super thick, and probably she doesn’t want colleagues like Jody and Cas to literally hear her banging someone. Dean doesn’t want Sam to hear him banging someone. Talk about weird.

And all of that is total bullshit that crumbles the second he sees Donna’s shapely silhouette emerging from the hallway, stepping into the star-lit lounge. A sky light pours moonbeams onto the thick carpet, and when Donna steps into the grey light, Dean loses his breath. She is in nothing but bra and panties and the bandage on her left arm, hair flowing around her face and shoulders like a mermaid or something.

He sits up, blanket sliding to the floor. The only things he took off to sleep were socks, boots, and jacket, but goose bumps erupt all over his body.

“Can’t sleep,” she whispers when she is close enough. She crowds him back into a reclined position on the soft cushions. Her knees cage his hips, her plump ass rests on his legs, hands sliding sensually up and down his torso. “Wanna fool around?”

“Hell yes,” Dean rasps as lightly as he can. He gulps, glances toward the living room and then toward the master bedroom. Both are close--a door shut at the end of the hall, and not even a doorway between them and the other room. Just a small, open dining area separating them from Sam and Cas. Dean can see Cas’ digital watch glowing in the dark just around the corner. “Just gotta be quiet.”

She nods, bites her lip, and shimmies forward a little to sit on his cock. Her chest swells, push-up bra barely containing her creamy, jiggling breasts, so the half-mast erection he’s had since the adrenaline rush fills the rest of the way out as she grinds slowly against him. The couch, thank god, has great springs and makes no noise as they move.

He grabs her hips and realizes with an electric jolt that the white his brain took for cotton is actually satin. White satin--what a tease. His swallows a noise that clicks in his throat, and he quietly gasps for breath.

-X-

This is her favorite thing in life right now. Gorgeous guy beneath her, chest working like silent billows, at her mercy. No other feeling like it. None. Then like an added spice, they are in a house full of people, on a couch in a common-room. It’s past midnight and no one is awake, but gosh, just the possibility that they can be caught--it’s this ever present current pushing over them. This is masterbating in a bunkbed at camp x100 because it’s real sex and she’s got a nice, hard cock to play with.

Riding the pleasure in silence, she grinds her wet panties against his jeans, and notices how Dean’s eyes are sparkling and fixated on her bouncing chest, his hands preoccupied with the satin. Invincible, reckless, and drunk she reaches back and undoes the hooks and tosses the bra into the darkness.

Whoo! she wants to cry out at the feeling of rebellious freedom, and the ravenous look on Dean’s face, but she bites it back, rocking a little faster against him.

Dean levers up on an elbow, gives her a kiss and a little honka-honka before she shoves him back down onto the cushions. He trembles beneath her, smiling, adam’s apple rolling up and down as he swallows and gasps for air. His breath is getting a little loud, so she stops, rests the pad of a single finger against his lips.

Obedient as the night is long, he lays there staring up at her with green eyes shining full of eagerness and wavering patience. His hands have returned to her satin covered ass, and he gives her an adorable little grin as he waits to see what’s next.

The kiss he’d given her tastes like the lollipops she’d bought him in celebration of the kill. Needing more of those tootsie-pop-red lips, Donna lowers over him slowly and kisses him. He runs his hands up her back, and then cups her bare breasts again, teases her nipples in slow, deliberate sweeps of his thumbs.

It makes her give a low little hum that can’t be stopped. She pins his hands above his head, and returns his wicked grin. “You bad boy,” she whispers.

He bucks up into her and trembles again, whispers. “Goin’ crazy, Donna, please.”

-X-

If his friends and family weren’t there, he’d flip her around and show her again how crazy she makes him. He’d pound her into the stuffing of this couch until she was screaming his name.

He can’t do that, because it’ll be too loud. But he can’t take this anymore, either. He breaks, and begs as softly as he can. “Please.”

Those hands run up his body--oh god--followed by a light kiss, a finger-stroke down his face. “You want more?” she asks, innocently. He nods wildly.

She shimmies back down his legs and undoes his jeans. He’s got a condom in his wallet which is with his keys on the table above his head. He reaches blindly over the couch arm, fumbles for it when she frees him.

“Here--” he says, only to get her finger back on his lips, her breathy little “shh,” reminding him to be quiet. And then, suddenly, she’s fucking him with her breasts. Dean can’t believe his eyes. The red, shiny head of his cock is sliding naked between mounds of warm, soft flesh. She holds them together around him, teasing her own nipples, watching his reaction with a dirty smile on her face. He mouths fuuuuuck and fists her hair over one ear. She turns her face into his wrist and leaves a butterfly kiss over his pulse. Dean wishes to god he can be loud tonight.

A coughs sounds in the livingroom. It’s Sam; means his snores will get louder in a second. Dean feels like laughing. His heart is hammering. Are they seriously getting away with this? Is he seriously about to come all over a dream girl’s tits?

God, Donna’s amazing.

-X-

She’s straddling his shin, grinding against it in little gyrating motions, enjoying herself immensely when the noise in the livingroom almost gives her a heart attack. She checks with Dean, but he doesn’t seem fazed by the sound-- He looks as hypnotized by the sight of his cock sliding between boobs as she had hoped for.

But as if the cough had been a cattle prod, Donna moves to the next step. She flips her hair out of the way, and opens the condom. They don’t have all night. Best to do this quickly, before someone gets up to pee or something.

Dean spits in his hand to wet it for her before she shoves her panties aside and takes him in. The stretch is deep and delicious. Their smiles mirror one another, brimming with the potential of the night. But this will be quick (sadly, no time to try for another double whammy) but uff does he feel good. A tremor shoots up her spine. She bites her lip to hold in sounds as she begins to move.

He puffs and gasps lightly beneath her, rolling his head on the pillow and biting his lip. He clings to her hips, fingers sweeping over the satin. Donna runs her hands over his torso as she chases that finish. Every inverted moan fuels the pleasure; with her eyes closed it is nothing but a dream she’s made up to get what she needs.

She is surprised when Dean comes--without watching for it, she almost forgot it’d happen. He chokes, grimacing, cords standing out in his neck with his effort to keep silent. He fists the couch cushion and leaves finger-dents in the fleshy bulge of her hip. It takes her breath to see it, it makes her hungry for her own. With no other choice, she goes faster, giving Dean an apologetic grin as she uses his over-sensitive cock ruthlessly.

Little grunts and hisses out of him might be too loud, but can’t be helped. Donna is close, so close. She rides harder and faster, racing fatigue in her muscles. Come on, come on, she thinks desperately.

Dean looks like he’s on the verge of tears but she can feel it shooting through her veins, that drug she’s been living on, so she doesn’t stop. It hits her with a convulsion that locks her jaw in a silent cry. Her toes curl, she claws at Dean’s chest, and even drools, just a little bit, god help her. But she can’t scream.

She collapses on Dean, face buried in his neck, where aftershave and sweat mix with the smell of Jody’s spare pillowcase. The drool on the corner of Donna’s mouth is absorbed by the soft cotton of Dean’s gray t-shirt. His arms have settled around her, holding her on top of him, tangled in her hair.

-X-

Seriously, Dean must have blacked out for a second. He’s missing time. One second she’s milked every last drop out of him and is still going when her body seizes--then suddenly she’s laying on top of him, sated, giggling.

“Oh my god,” she whispers, fingers combing in his hair, lips trailing lightly up his jaw. “Are you okay?”

He grunts softly. He thinks so. Maybe. If his dick isn’t broken. He laughs a little. “Mm, mama, I gotta learn to say no to you sometimes.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, sounding it. Dean squeezes her instantly. “No, no. That was amazing. But you just almost killed me,” he says, trying not to laugh enough to be heard. His whole fucking body is a live wire, maybe he’s actually smoking a little bit. He wouldn’t be surprised, she just blew all his circuits.

“I’ll go easier next time,” she promises. A minute later, she pulls away from him, balances herself on her feet, and picks up the flannel shirt he’s discarded on top of his duffle in the floor.

She puts it on, and the thing hangs down to her knees. The rolled sleeves get shaken loose around her hands before she starts cleaning up. Dean would like to help but finds that he can't really get up. His entire body is like lead.

Once she has returned from the bathroom,she rejoins Dean on the couch. There is just enough room for her to lay against him. He has just enough strength to hold onto her.

-X-

The sound of Jody closing her bedroom door is an explosion that makes Donna wish she was dead. When she opens her eyes the sun filled room stabs out her eyeballs. “Oh Jesus,” she swears, but thankfully the cotton mouth keeps the words dry, brittle sounds mostly in her throat. She swallows them, feeling sick as a dog.

“Oh, my,” Jody says, pure shock bleeding into absolute glee. “Don't let me disturb you.”

Donna’s not sure what her partner is talking about and then her bed moves. Dean! His sickly moan vibrates beneath her face, letting her know that her head is on his chest. Yes, now that she thinks about it, she is definitely cuddled up with Dean Winchester, on a couch--and jiminy cricket she isn't wearing pants! Nothing at all! Her memory of pulling on his shirt before taking a nap is the last thing she can remember. But darn it she hadn't meant to sleep all night out here. At least when Dean visited, he had the wear-with-all to sneak out and protect her honor. She could have at least returned the favor!

Cracking open her eyes again, she suffers the headache of the light and manages to make out the shapes and colors of Jody’s lounge. Her wall clock says it is barely seven in the morning. She and Dean had not finished fooling around until well past three, which means it is way too early.

Dean lifts his head and then drops it with another moan. “Whoops,” he says. He doesn't sound as bad as Donna feels, but then again, he has far more experience with hangovers. Donna had never even had one until after her divorce. This will be her second worst morning ever, but on the plus side it's from having too much fun this time, which almost makes it worth it.

Dean’s hands make sure the flannel shirt is covering her properly, and then he smooths her hair out of his nose with his bristly face. Donna would smile if she didn't wish her head would go on and pop to end her misery. But if Dean can hack it she sure as heck can. So, burying what she can of her headache and nausea, she sits up slowly.

Dean makes a noise of protest. She blindly pats him on the neck and face. “Lemme go, hon. Don't want to blow chunks on ya.”

“M’kay, ‘sfun. So fun.”

She hums warmly in agreement and forces herself to stand up. The ground moves. The walls dance. She stumbles down the hallway. In Alex’s room, she heaves but swallows it on reflex. Gross.

Alex’s little bathroom is adorable, but Donna likes it best at the moment in the dark. She sits on the fuzzy orange mat and lays on the--thankfully clean--porcelain between heaves. She is alone for several minutes before someone steps into the room with gentle consideration.

“Yo, Donna,” Jody says softly, crouching down to her level. The woman is dressed in her uniform, holding a bottle of water and painkillers. “Brought you some aspirin and the morning after pill, in case you need it.”

Donna can drown in gratitude. “Oh, thanks, Jodes. You're such a good fr--” she heaves the rest of her sentiment into the bowl. Jody holds her hair back and laughs. “I was just doing this for Sam a second ago. You two drank like you had something to forget. Everything alright?”

“What's wrong with Sam?” Donna asks, ignoring the question of her own demons in pure concern for one of her best friends. Jody lifts a thin eyebrow. “Nothing now that he and Cas are together.”

Her jaw drops far enough to hit the toilet seat. “No way! Is Sam ok with the…?”

“With the what? Cas being ace, Cas being Dean’s boyfriend, or Cas being my deputy and tied to one place?”

“Well...all of it. I guess,” Donna says, astonished by how similar her situation with Dean is to that. His bisexuality and her need to stay close to Larson County are two things they will both need to compromise on if this thing is ever going to be more than crazy hookups. She hopes to goodness Sam and Cas can figure it out. Then that would mean she and Dean could too.

“Alright. I think you may be empty.” Jody says brightly, when Donna’s contemplation is not interrupted by more spews. “Down the hatch, come on. We need to hit the road before nine.”

“Just me and Sam sick?”

“Shoot no. Dean's over the sink and Cas is filling up my trash can. Next time there’s a shojo, I am not the designated driver.”

“Trade places with ya in a heartbeat.”

“Nah, you look cuter with Dean than I would.”

“Shut up!” Donna swats at her friend, grinning into her glass of water. She still can't believe she was caught half naked with Dean on the couch. Boy, if anyone had told good girl Donna she’d be sitting here in nothing but a man's shirt, eating a Plan B pill, this hungover, she'd have bet the farm they were coocoo for coco puffs.

She likes how she would have never seen this coming. After a life of carefully planned actions, it feels unbelievably good to live fast and loose like this for a change. It's all she was after on that dumb Cuff links site, someone to give her this experience. Nice to get it with a friend instead of a stranger.

-X-

Dean rinses his vomit down the drain and scrubs out the sink for Jody before finding Cas and Sam sitting together on the couch. Like, no space between them together. He smiles at them and gets two smiles in return.

“Where’s your shirt?” Sam asks knowingly. Jody can be a such a gossip. Grinning, Dean plucks at the collar of the faded old T-shirt, where some faint red lines have appeared; nail marks from Donna. These are the claw marks a hunter wants to wake up with. Perfectly human and totally hot. He shrugs. “Don't feel like wearing it.”

She was so cute in it last night he doesn't intend to get it back from her, even though the T-shirt might as well be his bare skin he feels so undressed.

He puts his bag down next to Sam’s and sits before his head starts swimming again. Cas and Sam don’t look so good either. Both are pale and no one has turned on any overhead lights. Sitting there in the shadows on the bigger couch, Cas’ hand is visible on Sam’s waist, where his arm is looped behind him. Sam’s arm is hanging around Cas’ shoulders like a boa, and both men look as pleased as Dean felt waking up to the belated realization that he had a woman in his arms. Not alone.

“You be good to him, Cas,” Dean says, “Sammy doesn't share marshmallows with just anyone.”

“I am aware of this, yes.” Cas says soberly. “I was very honored last night to taste his marshmallows.”

“Whoa.” Dean puts on the breaks. Sam rolls his eyes and Cas grins. “That wasn't a euphemism, Dean. I have no interest in sexual--”

“Yeah, Cas. We’ve heard the speech about a million times. Retire it. If Sam’s fine with it, then I'm happy for you.”

“I am fine with it,” Sam says, a big lopsided grin. He trades a look with Cas that tells Dean they've talked it all over and he bumps a shoulder. “For now at least.”

Dean doesn't like that answer--it had been his answer, way back when he and Cas had given it a go. The for now hadn’t lasted very long at all before Dean had needed more than Cas could give. But one look from the deputy says that Cas would thank him to stay out of this. Maybe Sam will be different. Maybe.

Dean grunts. Whatever. If Cas wants to repeat mistakes he has a right to do it. It just means Dean will have to kick both their asses later, for hurting each other. Before he can make that promise the ladies show up dressed and ready for the road, finally.

Her date night clothes had been sprayed with monster blood, so Donna is in a borrowed pair of sweats and an old police academy hoodie of Jody’s. She calls shotgun, and the boys pile into the backseat of the squad car like a gang of deviants, Cas in the middle with a huge cat grin--loving every minute of the ride, nothing off limits to cuddle.

Heavenly Honey Fields is closest, so Jody drops him first. They roll to a stop outside the little trailer, and Jody voices her pleasure to see that neither of the girls are home. “They've gotten themselves up and to school all on their own.”

“Yes. They can be good children when they wish to.” Cas agrees fondly before thanking Jody for the ride and climbing out after Sam. There is an intermittent moment before Sam climbs back in, and while they wait, Dean catches Donna’s eye in the side mirror, winks.

Next, Jody parks beside the Impala in the bar’s empty lot. Sam and Dean climb out of the car and transfer their bags and the blessed sword into Baby’s trunk.

“You boys okay to drive?” Jody asks, through the passenger’s window. Dean almost has a spring in his step as he opens his car door. Donna has bags under her eyes, and lank strands of hair resting against her face. Dean wishes he could make her breakfast to put the glow back in her skin, but the ladies have real lives to get back to. He grins at them both. “I'm good. Car rides always make me feel better, guess it's from growin’ up on the road.”

Instantly he feels like a knob for sharing such an utterly pointless factoid about himself, but thankfully nothing is made of it. Jody waves. Donna’s pale lips stretch in a smile and her hand rests on the door, as if she just about reached through it to touch him. “You stay safe out there,” she says, voice still hollow and small. It feels a little like a secret, like it’s more than just a customary hunter parting.

  
“You bet,” he promises. The squad car rolls away and Dean slides home behind the wheel.


End file.
